


None But The Lonely Heart

by BananaMuffinSpecial



Category: DC Extended Universe
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Justice League (2017) Spoilers, M/M, Man of Steel (2013) Referenced, Masturbation, Minor Violence, Pining, Post-Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, Regret, Resurrection, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-05-01 20:44:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14528814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BananaMuffinSpecial/pseuds/BananaMuffinSpecial
Summary: In the wake of Superman's death, Bruce Wayne is the most affected one.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [[ART] None But the Lonely Heart](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14527005) by [Cheese_kun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cheese_kun/pseuds/Cheese_kun). 



> Bruce Wayne kept Superman’s cape and cradles it.  
> That's the prompt that started all of this,along with an amazing piece of art from the talented Cheese_kun.  
> I'm so excited to finally share this with everyone, and I really hope you enjoy this little story. I fell in love with this prompt since day one and I'm glad I got the oportunity of bringing it to life. Kinko, it was an honour working with you and I can't wait for you to read it! 
> 
> Please go check the beautiful comapny art pieces over here, because they are great and none of this would even exist if it wasn't for one of them, so go check them out. Admire them, appreciate them, love them: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14527005/chapters/33564150

Bruce's footsteps echoed through the room, mixing in with the sound of falling water and the distant screeching of bats. Just a few hours earlier he'd stood at the gates of the cemetery in Smallville, unable to bring himself to get any closer to Clark's resting place. Now, he was back in Gotham, alone in his cave, and despite his efforts of drowning it with scotch, the pressure in his chest remained strong, intensifying even. The sensation had first appeared when he saw Superman's, Clark's, body roll out of Doomsday's hand, lifeless.

He had been the first to approach the scene, closely followed by Diana. Bruce had to swallow the lump that had begun forming in his throat as he crossed Clark's hands over his chest and wrapped his cape around his body. Diana must have noticed the slight tremble of his hands when he lifted Clark but said nothing and just helped him move him. Lois had then rushed to them, face full of worry, and Bruce had to look away, jaw clenched, to keep his composure as the woman cradled the fallen hero.

Bruce knew what it felt like to lose someone you care about and seeing Lois kneeling on the floor with Clark's head on her lap served as a reminder. It made him realise just how wrong he'd been. “He is not our enemy”, Alfred had told him when he'd gone off about how Superman had brought the war to them, but he'd refused to listen. He had tried to kill Clark, not even once stopping to think of him beyond the alien label. He never considered he'd have a life apart from Superman. His mother's name was Martha, just like Bruce's. His mother! And when did he find out? When Clark managed to choke her name out before Bruce could stab him with the Kryptonite spear he'd forged himself.  

Bruce gritted his teeth and swallowed, loosening the knot of his tie. He could feel a lump start forming in his throat yet again. Another glass of scotch would help.

He scanned the room looking for the bottle he kept there, stopping the moment his eyes laid on the Tech Cowl. The one he'd worn to fight Superman. He wandered over to the table closest to the computer, where Alfred had spent long hours hunched over the piece of armory, tweaking with its cables to make it work. Bruce reached for it, feeling its weight as he held it in both hands. It was heavier than Bruce remembered, and he didn't know if it was the alcohol in his system that betrayed his senses or the responsibility he felt for it all. He traced the outline of the torn metal with his thumb, pressing just enough to feel its sharpness without producing a cut.

It was his fault. Clark was dead, and it was Bruce's fault for being so stubborn.

He remembered his first meeting with Clark. It was at the Friends of the Metropolis Library event hosted by Luthor. “Don't believe everything you hear, son,” had been his answer to Clark's accusations of the Batman. He should have listened to his own words. He shouldn't have let his emotions, his anger, blind him. Then, maybe Clark would still be alive.

He shook his head as if somehow the action would erase the irony from everything that had left his mouth that night. Bruce could feel the rage building up inside him, causing him to hold on to the cowl as tight as he could, knuckles turning white. A deep growl, almost animal-like, escaped his throat and a second later, the clinking of metal filled the room. Bruce's palms met with the cold surface of the cluttered table in front of him for support as he watched the cowl bounce and roll away from him on the floor until it was no longer in sight.

He stood there for a while, head bowed, steadying his ragged breathing. The tightness in his chest was becoming unbearable, and now his vision was blurring too. Bruce cursed under his breath, blinking rapidly to try and keep the tears at bay. He ran a hand through his hair, pulling at it in frustration before turning around and stumbling over to his chair, flopping on it once he was close enough. He closed his eyes, wetting his lips and taking a shaky breath. He'd been determined not to cry. He didn't feel he had the right to after all he'd done. However, when he opened his eyes back again, he couldn't contain himself anymore.

* * *

 

Bruce winced as he slowly straightened himself on the seat, his head throbbing. The fluorescent lights of the cave were too bright for him to bear, but at least the room was silent. He blinked a couple of times trying to focus somewhat decently, keeping his eyes narrowed, and scanned the room.

Alfred had surely been down there at some point while Bruce slept. He could tell by the presence of a wooden tray on the desk in front of him, holding a carafe of sparkling water and a glass, along with a couple of pills and a plate cloche.

Bruce reached for the painkillers, throwing them into his mouth as he filled the glass. He swallowed both in one gulp, bringing a hand up to the back of his neck to try and ease his strained muscles, instantly regretting having tilted his head backwards.

As he lowered the glass again, he caught the reflexion of a black box, against the metal dome. He turned around slowly, keeping the dizziness at bay. He took the box in his hands, placing it on his lap and taking the lid off. Superman's cape and suit laid neatly folded inside. He reached in, carefully grazing his fingers against the alien fabric. Bruce told himself he took them to prevent them from falling into the wrong hands, to keep them away from the black market, from being hanged on some wall like a trophy, but the truth was there was much more to it than he would ever admit.

Initially, he had thought about placing it in the cave, next to the stairs with the other suit, as a reminder of the hero he'd misjudged and now was gone, of the man he'd failed, but it didn't feel right. It wouldn't be enough.

An idea occurred to him. He got to his feet, taking the box with him to the far end of the room. He placed it carefully over one of the unoccupied tables. Then, he proceeded to walk over to the smallest of the mobile chest drawers, retrieving test tubes, gloves, tweezers and various other lab supplies.

Bruce took his coat off, folding it over the back of the chair, and rolled up his sleeves. With gloved hands, he took out the suit. He slid a finger over the torn material right over the S on the chest, a shiver running through his body. He snapped his head up startled, as a couple of bats loudly flew from one corner of the cave to the other. Why was he nervous? He shook his head slightly, some longer strands of hair brushing against his forehead. Bruce reached into the box once again, this time retrieving the cape. It had been folded into a perfect triangle, and it reminded Bruce of the flags the military gave to the families of those who lost their lives serving the country.

He placed it next to the suit, carefully undoing every fold until it lay completely extended on the table. Bruce reached for a pair of scissors, holding a corner of the red fabric firmly between his fingers. He brought his arm up to his forehead, using the edge of his sleeve to dry out the sweat pooling at his temple.

He couldn't do it.

Bruce threw the scissors away, as he leant forward, hands on the edge of the table. The dizziness was back, and he breathed slowly, deeply, as he felt himself lacking air. He ripped the latex gloves off his hands, throwing them against the wall. Bruce balled his hands into fists, slamming them on the table in frustration. He turned around, spotting the decanter filled with whiskey at the far end corner. He didn't think about it twice and poured himself a full glass, which he drowned in one gulp. He eyed the garments out of the corner of his eye, the smell of ozone and smoke still impregnated on them lingered on Bruce's nose. He swallowed hard, his throat becoming narrow. Bruce ran a hand through his hair, walking back to the table slowly.

He took the clothes and carried them along the corridor and out into the lower level of the cave. There, he put them unceremoniously into the laundry basket, sighing once he'd closed the lid and he could no longer see the blue and red pile of cloth.


	2. Chapter 2

Bruce sighed, resting his forehead on the windowpane, the coldness of the glass sending a shiver through his body. He looked out the window to the lake, taking in the soothing image of the moonlight reflecting on the swaying water, a light breeze making the leaves from the far trees swing in compass. Bruce crossed an arm over his bare chest, his eyes closing almost involuntarily. He was tired, but there was too much in his mind for him to sleep.

His computer made a sound, indicating the download was complete and ending Bruce's brief moment of calm. Bruce walked back to the chaise lounge, sitting on it once again as he pulled his laptop closer. He slid his finger on the touchpad of his laptop, tapping twice on the Metahuman archives, and the four, now familiar tabs, popped up open. Bruce had been trying to gather as much information as he could about each of them. His meeting with Amanda Waller had been a success. She'd given him the classified information he had requested, in exchange for protection, but it had been useful for Bruce to fill in some gaps in Luthor's files about these people nonetheless.

Lex. Bruce clenched his jaw at his memory. He opened a new tab, showing the live security feed of AC23-1940 prisoner's jail cell in Metropolis, Luthor's cell. Batman had visited him not long after his arrest. Bruce had gotten there with the intention of using his Bat-brand one last time, but he had held back.

After breaking into the building and knocking some people down, Bruce found himself on one of the corridors to the east, the red back up lights on as a result of having turned the power off. Luthor stood in the cell before him, face to the wall and hands raised behind his neck.

He slowly lowered his hands at the sound of Batman's steps, heavy boots against hard stone approaching. Lex turned around anxiously, only to be met with the figure of the Bat, towering over him. Bruce took a handful of Luthor's orange suit, lifting him up and slamming him into the wall. Luthor laughed even when Bruce had knocked some air out of his lungs.

"Whatever you do, wherever you go, I'll be watching you," He threatened the man through gritted teeth.

Lex just laughed again, the sound menacing to end with Bruce's patience. "Look what we've got here... the man fresh out of the caves of Wayne Manor." Bruce clenched his teeth further at his words, tightening his grip on Luthor's uniform. "But who would believe me, I-I'm insane. I'm not even fit to stand trial." He blurted out, eyes fixed on the cowl's lenses.

"I'll make sure they transfer you to Arkham Asylum in Gotham. I've got some _friends_ that will be expecting you." Luthor grimaced, but soon his face reassumed a mocking expression.

"But there's nothing you can do now," he chuckled. "The bells have been rung, and they've heard it. Ding, dong, the god is _dead_." Luthor's tone dropped abruptly as eyes cold and sinister stared back at Bruce.

Bruce's blood boiled at the sole mention of Superman. He bared his teeth as a deep growl crawled up from the very bottom of his throat. He pressed his arm against Luthor's neck, pinning him down to the wall and reducing the influx of air to his lungs. Batman held the searing hot, Bat-shaped, iron inches away from Luthor's face, threateningly. Lex's gaze never faltered.

But he couldn't do it. Bruce's fist struck the wall instead, cracking it.

"What are you doing to me, Clark?" Bruce whispered to himself, running a hand through his hair and closing the security feed window, dedicating it a brief glance before it disappeared.

He didn't feel ready to elaborate on it, though, choosing to busy himself to keep his mind off the matter. He looked down to his left, where a black briefcase laid open on the floor. Placed inside was Diana's photograph, the original copy taken during WWI that she thought of as lost. It took Bruce a fair amount of questioning the right people, mostly antiquities dealers, before he located it, but he had managed to recover it. And now, it would be on its way to Paris, first thing in the morning, back to the person it belonged to.

He eyed the picture for the hundredth time, lingering briefly on each of the faces of the four men at her side. The story behind it, behind Diana, intrigued him. She was a mystery to him. Without looking away, Bruce reached to the crystal table beside and picked up a pen and a notes block. He used his bent leg for support, and with that in mind, he wrote: _Maybe one day you'll tell me your story_.

He ripped off the page, bending down to place it carefully atop the glass piece and closing the case right after.

* * *

 

_Bruce had travelled all the way to the middle of the desert to acquire the chunk of Kryptonite found just a few months ago in the Indian Ocean. However, he'd been set up and captured by Superman's army._

_They had taken him underground, or what Bruce assumed to be underground since there were not many clues to know for sure. The last thing he remembered was soldiers all around, pinning him down, his face inches away from the ground, and then a hard blow to the back of his head that left him unconscious._

_His hands were chained up above his head, limiting his movements to a minimum, and though they hadn't bothered to disarm him, it was of no use. Beside him were the men that had helped him, tied up as well. Bruce inspected his surroundings, his mind racing, looking for a possible route of escape._

_There was a sound in the distance, twice, as if something ripped the sky apart. Sonic booms. Everyone looked up, some trying to pull at their restraints out of panic, but it was useless. Seconds later, a whoosh of wind came from the large opening right in front of Bruce, raising a cloud of dust that blocked his sight momentarily, though the blur of blue and red he managed to catch was enough to make every muscle in his body tense up._

_The cloud dissipated as Superman stood and the soldiers guarding the entrance kneeled before him. He made his way towards Bruce, not once taking his eyes off him, each firm step resonating in Bruce's ears. It seemed to him that the closer Superman got, the dimmer the light around them became, and by the time he stopped about an arm's length before him, there was nothing but darkness surrounding them. No soldiers, no more prisoners. They were alone._

_Superman snatched the cowl off Bruce, revealing his face. Bruce's hair fell wet with sweat against his forehead, some longer strands reaching his eyes. Clark tilted his head slightly, briefly shifting his attention to the cowl in his hand before letting it drop to the ground. Bruce was expecting to see a flash of bright red in Clark's eyes when he looked at him again, but it wasn't there. Instead, brown met blue._

_Bruce swallowed, Clark's eyes following the movement of his Adam's apple and then further down. Clark reached up, placing a hand on Bruce's chest right over his heart. Bruce's breath caught in his lungs for a moment as Clark's hand travelled lower, slowly, leaving Bruce's skin feeling hot on its trail. There was a snapping sound, followed by a quiet thud, and Bruce's belt was off. Clark looked up to lock eyes with Bruce once again, head tipped to the side questioningly._

_Bruce bucked his hips forward in response, his growing bulge grazing the back of Clark's hand. Clark smiled mischievously and took Bruce in his arms, clashing his lips on his. He trailed down from Bruce's mouth to his jaw and his neck, all the while strong hands roamed his body, skilfully ripping kevlar apart. Bruce's chest was left exposed to Clark's mercy. He nibbled and sucked on pink nipples, making deep groans escape Bruce's throat. The sound mixing with the rattling of chains each time Bruce pulled at his restraints._

_The Kryptonian descended with his mouth along Bruce's torso, lower and lower each time. Clark kneeled before Bruce, lips hovering dangerously close to Bruce’s throbbing erection still trapped in his pants. He brushed the tip of his nose along Bruce's length, making him shiver. "Clark," Bruce called through gritted teeth._

_"Please," begged Bruce, looking down to Clark, all flushed. He was helpless, with hands chained above his head and hips held in place by equally strong hands._

_With two fingers, Clark pulled Bruce's undersuit pants down, slowly and just enough so that the head of Bruce's cock was left exposed. Clark's hot breath brushed against the sensitive skin, making Bruce inhale deeply. Clark looked up at Bruce, sticking out his tongue, and without breaking eye contact, he slowly licked the tip._

Bruce woke up startled, heart pounding and sweat covering his forehead. He shifted on the bed, suddenly uncomfortable, frowning down at his hips. The thin fabric of his boxers left nothing to the imagination, straining to contain his erection.

He slid a hand down his abdomen, slowly, rounding his bulge and continuing along his inner thigh. Bruce did it again, backwards, brushing his perked nipples on the way up. He closed his eyes as he reached down with both hands; one held his cock at the base as the other pulled down his boxers. Once his erection was free, he slid his hand along it, humming at the cold feeling of his hand against hot skin, the image of Clark's tongue against him vivid in his mind.

Bruce reached to the side, where he had left the cape. He brought it up to his lips, feeling the silk-like material with them. He slid the fabric down his body wrapping it around his erection with ease, the red hue darkening where the cloth came in contact with pre-cum. Bruce squeezed lightly before start moving his hand again but had to stop when he reached the tip, the sensation too overwhelming he was sure to come with another touch from it.

He freed the grasp on the cape, and instead let it pool around his crotch, covering part of his thighs and abdomen. Bruce worked his erection with his hand, sliding it along the shaft almost leisurely. He thought about Clark again, about how those pink flush lips on Bruce's, his hands on him, the sounds that would leave his throat. Bruce wanted Clark so bad that between gasps Bruce called out his name, lovingly, tenderly.

Bruce felt a familiar tightness in his belly, growing with each stroke. He sped up, bucking his hips up in time to meet his hand. The cape slipped over his arm, brushing the tip of his throbbing cock and that was it for Bruce. "Clark," he croaked out, cumming in great spasms that went on even after a while, a tear slipping down his cheek to the back of his ear.

Bruce lay there, hand still gripping the sheets tightly, as he recovered his breathing. He propped himself up on his elbows, bending one leg, the cape sliding down to his hips. The fabric brushed Bruce's now oversensitive skin, making his breath catch in his lungs. He took the cape in his hand, rubbing it over his thighs and stomach to clean the cum stuck on them.

He turned to lay on his side, the cape firmly grasped with his right hand. He felt the beginnings of a lump start forming in his throat, but he was tired of crying, of missing. He brought his fist up, covered in the alien fabric, to his chest, right where Clark’s hand had rested in his dream, and closed his eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

Walking down the streets of Metropolis only brought Bruce memories of crumbling buildings, people running scared, dust and rubble everywhere. He remembered looking up at the sky after saving a little girl from being crushed by falling debris, thinking it was all the alien's responsibility and how much he wanted him to pay for it.

And now Superman was gone, and it was a bitter pill to swallow.

Bruce closed his eyes as the wind struck his face, the air still wet from the rain. He felt silly, standing in front of an empty monument, or what remained of it anyway. The place was surrounded by police tape, restricting the entrance. Superman's statue was gone, destroyed. Its only remnants being the stone boots anchored to the floor, serving as a reminder of what once stood there. Behind were the columns engraved with thousands of names of all the people that lost their lives during the Black Zero events, Superman's first public appearance. Three of them were gone, ripped off of the ground, reduced to metal dents protruding from the stone. Broad, and once pristine, stairs cracked on the right side. Even the atmosphere surrounding the area was different. It was heavy with grief and emptiness.

Heroes Park was not a sight to be inspired by anymore. It had turned into a place of disgrace and tragedy.

Bruce found it pointless that people would come with gifts to try and honour the memory of someone whose body wasn't even there, and yet there he was. He looked down to the bouquet of flowers in his hands and laughed bitterly at himself, thinking what a coward he was. Bruce couldn't face Clark on the day of his funeral, and he was still avoiding doing so. If he wanted to honour Clark, Smallville was the place he should be visiting.

Bruce took a white carnation out of the bouquet, crouching to place it on the floor among the other thousands, head bowed. And then, with a last glance to the monument, he got into his car and drove away.

…

He went all the way from Metropolis to Smallville, the flowers carefully placed on the passenger seat to prevent them from getting damaged. The sun had just been starting to set when he left, and by the time he arrived, night had long fallen. Bruce walked down to the cemetery, following the narrow path framed with crops that lead to the entrance gates, and continued up to the Kent lot.

Clark Joseph Kent

Bruce's mouth dried as he read the name on the stone before him.  Bruce bowed, kneeling on one knee to delicately place the flower arrangement in front of it: a mixture of white carnations, peace lilies and red orchids, all tied up with a royal blue ribbon. The petals seemed to glow in the moonlight, and Bruce traced their contour absentmindedly. What their meaning was, Bruce didn't care. To him, they were a peace offering, an apology. They showed respect and admiration. They showed regret. He wanted Clark to know he was sorry, that if he could have a second chance with him, he wouldn't make the same mistakes again. He would try to be better.

He will.

There was a quiet thud, a car's door being slammed shut, behind him. Bruce turned to find Martha Kent walking toward him. He'd been so distracted that he hadn't noticed the truck parked nearby. He opened his mouth to say something, but Martha rested a hand on his shoulder, stopping him.

"I miss him too," she whispered, looking into Bruce's glossy eyes, her words almost swallowed by the wind. She offered her hand to Bruce to help him stand to his feet.

Martha directed a last glance to her son's tomb, smiling softly at the sight of the fresh flowers, and tucked her hand in Bruce's elbow. "C'mon," she led him back to the truck. Bruce found no way to object.

"Why don't you tell me how did you two meet?" Martha asked. Bruce held the door at the driver's side open for her, closing it once she got in.

"Well..." Bruce rounded the front of the vehicle to occupy the seat beside her. "It's complicated," was all he added. “I tried to kill him.” He could feel Martha's gaze on him, but he couldn't look back at her. "I tried to kill your son when he went to ask for my help."

Tentatively, Martha placed a hand on Bruce's arm, her thumb moving in light circles. Bruce relaxed a little under her touch and released the tension in his hands that had formed into fists. He turned to look at her, expecting her to yell at him, hit him, tell him to leave, but none of that came. Martha held his stare, expectantly, as if he was waiting for him to continue talking.

"So, what changed your mind?" She asked as Bruce remained silent. "You didn't kill him."

Bruce shook his head slowly, eyes cast down. "Martha was my mother's name too. She was taken from me a long time ago," He swallowed, looking out the window into the night sky.

"You saved me," she realised, and Bruce nodded faintly, still looking away.

"I let myself buy the lies, and be fooled to believe Clark was a threat," He continued "But by the time I understood my mistake, it was already too late.”

"It's never too late," she paused at the end, and Bruce realised what she was looking for; a name. They'd never been introduced properly.

"Bruce," he provided, turning to her with a small smile.

"Thank you, Bruce," she said, squeezing his arm one last time before letting go. He titled his head, questioningly, but she had already turned to start the car.

* * *

 

Iceland

Bruce pulled on the horse's reins to stop it before jumping down and tying it to a nearby rock. He approached the edge of the cliff, careful with where he set foot and settled on a spot near a small waterfall. From there, he had a perfect view of the land below. Close to the ocean was the tiny village Bruce had been looking for to find the first person on his list.

When Bruce got down, the people were already waiting for him. They lead him into a type of warehouse where they all gathered around Bruce, leaving him in the centre of a makeshift circle. Right before Bruce was who he assumed to be the head of the community, so he spoked facing him.

"I'm asking for your help. I believe there's a stranger that comes to this village from the sea. Brings fish, in the winter, when the people are hungry. He comes on the King Tide. That was last night."

"There are Icebergs in the harbor. It's been four months since the last ship got through," translated the man standing next to the leader, catching Bruce's attention immediately.

"This stranger doesn't come by ship. Look, I'll give you twenty-five thousand to speak with this man. Right now." Bruce offered, lacing his gloved hands behind his back, waiting. He'd brought more than that with him just in case things would come down to this.

The stranger laughed it off. Bruce looked around when everyone else burst into laughter, noticing a very particular painting on the back wall. It was the same squared pattern that was all over Luthor's notes. "Tell me what those three boxes mean, and I'll make it thirty."

"You should get out," He advanced toward Bruce threateningly.

"Will you at least point me to Atlantis?" Bruce was playing with fire at saying that, but it would sure make the man drop the act.

And he did. Arthur picked Bruce up by his coat and slammed him onto the nearest column, knocking the air out of Bruce's lungs momentarily. "Arthur Curry, protector of the oceans, the Aquaman. I hear you can talk to fish?"

He lowered Bruce, letting go of his jacket once his feet touched the ground, but not backed away. Arthur studied Bruce's unwavering, almost cocky, expression a while before saying, "You have five minutes," and walked away. Bruce followed him outside.

"My name's Bruce Wayne. I'm the Batman of Gotham City," he started.

That earned him an amused look from Arthur, who turned to look at Bruce, eyebrow raised. "Wait, you dress up like a bat? Like, an actual bat?" He chuckled.

"It's worked for twenty years," Bruce shrugged. "Listen, enemies are coming. I'm building an alliance to defend ourselves, and I need warriors. That's where you come into play."

"Yeah... Don't count on it, Batman. No offence, but I don't like you digging into my business and getting into my life." Arthur quickened his pace.  "I'd rather be left alone."

"Is that why you help these people? 'Cause you can just disappear?" Bruce wouldn't give up that easily, and the more they approached the harbour, the more Bruce would push the man for a positive answer. 

"I help them because no one else does," Arthur replied taking his coat off, and Bruce cursed mentally. The tracking device he'd managed to hide in his sleeve had been for nothing.

Bruce stopped walking when Arthur diverged to the left, going down the rocky edge near the water. "If you want to protect them, you've got to work with me."

"Strong men are strongest alone." With his back to Bruce, he took his sweater off, walking toward the ocean, and it was clear their conversation was about to come to an end.

"Ever heard of Superman? He died fighting alongside me." Bruce had to swallow at the end of the sentence, his throat becoming dry all of a sudden. Arthur said nothing, but he did stop in his tracks for a moment at the mention of the hero.

In silence, he walked further into the water, turning to face Bruce when it reached his hips. "You're out of your mind, Bruce Wayne".

And with that, he dove into the icy water, disappearing almost immediately.

…

Central City

Barry Allen didn't even let Bruce finish the sentence when he chimed, "I'm in," still holding the Batarang the older man had thrown at him.

When Bruce had broken into the boy's place, he found himself in the most cluttered room he'd ever seen. Though, Alfred might disagree, and say Bruce had had worse days.

As soon as Bruce turned the power on, the room flooded with music, and the several monitors hanged all over the place came to life.

The kid also had an impressive amount of books, some shelved, and some stacked on the floor in several spots around the room, but Bruce hadn't bothered to check any of the titles. Instead, he immediately felt drawn to the mannequin, standing on a platform, almost at the centre of the room. It held a bright red, makeshift suit, and upon taking a closer look, Bruce realised it wasn't just a costume for some party. The thing was heat and abrasion resistant, being made up of silica-based quartz and fabric. It is what NASA used to prevent the space shuttle from burning up on re-entry.

Numerous sketches were pinned behind it on a blackboard, each more aerodynamic than the other, but Bruce couldn't find, at first glance, the one belonging to the suit displayed.

Bruce's phone buzzed, alerting him that Barry had already left Iron Heights Penitentiary and could arrive at any moment, so he turned the lights off again, and waited patiently for the young man.

Barry's first reaction was to deny every implication of him having any abilities out of the ordinary, and of course, it exasperated Bruce. He threw a Batarang at him, hurrying things up by revealing his identity, and also discovering what was that made Allen special: Speed.

"I call it the speed force. It's like a dimensional reality that allows me to manipulate space-time," he explained Bruce, taking another bite of pizza, as they walked toward Bruce's car. "I can't control my metabolism though, and I burn a tremendous amount of calories, so I gotta keep up. What are we up against again?"

"I'll tell you on the plane."

They both got into the car, and Bruce drove them to the airport where Alfred would be waiting for them.


	4. Chapter 4

He wasn't listening, not really. His mind had disconnected from the conversation right after Victor shared how his father had used the Mother Box to regenerate his body. It had worked; he saved his son's life. So if it worked on humans, what were the chances for it to work on Kryptonians too? For what Bruce knew, there were not many critical differences between the two.

Of course, there was the fact that Victor was alive when it happened. Clark, on the other hand…

Bruce had collected some blood and tissue samples from the Superman suit and stored them up in his lab. Perhaps he could convince the others that it would be safest to keep the box in the cave, so then he could use it on the samples to see how they reacted. Time was crucial, though, and that would take a couple of days to figure out, given the box turned out indeed too volatile to control.  His best shot would be to sneak out of the room for a few minutes to run some simple tests on the samples, hoping the results could prove it a viable enough plan.

"Bruce," Diana called, stopping Bruce dead in his tracks, head snapping up. When had he started pacing up and down the room?

"Just say it. What's on your mind?" Arthur exasperatedly asked, though his demeanour didn't match his tone. He rested his hips casually against the closest counter to the maintenance platform at the centre of the room, hands aimlessly atop the edge at his sides. Bruce cleared his throat.

"That thing was designed to reshape a planet, but what if you were stronger than one. What if your cells lay dormant, but incapable of decaying? A boost from the Box could..."

"Bring him back to life," Barry interrupted, completing the idea for him.

Bruce, for one, was glad for the intervention, as he wasn't sure he would be able to say it out loud, afraid of it only making sense in his mind.

"All we're missing is a conductive field; The Kryptonian ship has an amniotic chamber."

"No," Diana replied instantly, voice stern.

"Diana"

"No, Bruce. You have no idea what kind of power you're dealing with here." She stood up from her seat, arms crossed.  "Luthor raised a monster, and so could we."

"Luthor didn't have this; This is science beyond our limits, and that's what science is for: to make life better."

"Or to end it. Without heart and reason, it destroys as much as it creates." Diana pointed toward the other men in the room, who silently watched the exchange between the two. "You're risking their lives and maybe countless more."

"I know it's a risk, but it's necessary," He retorted firmly, eyes determined.

"Why? Because of your guilt?" She closed her eyes as soon as the words had left her mouth, regretting it instantly. Bruce clenched his teeth. "Bruce, I was there. You didn't kill Superman. At some point, even you have to learn to move on."

"Steve Trevor taught you that?"

Bruce didn't have time to react before Diana pushed him back, sending him flying against a pile of storage boxes.

Bruce didn't have time to react before Diana pushed him back, sending him flying against a pile of storage boxes. He smirked wickedly, all sense of reason clouded by hurt and anger.

"You shut yourself for a century until Luthor lured you out by stealing a picture of your dead boyfriend, so let's not talk about me moving on," He said through gritted teeth, voice dropping an octave.

"Let's see what happens if he wakes up and you are the first thing he sees," were Diana's last words before she walked past Bruce and left the room.

…

It wasn't until they stood at the genesis chamber of the Kryptonian ship that Bruce started to feel anxious.

Bruce held his breath as Arthur opened the casket, revealing Clark's body and taking him back to that night almost a year ago. Arthur slid an arm below his knees, the other behind his back, and he carried the body down the broken platform and into the amber liquid.

Tucked under Clark's hands was a photograph of his father, which slipped the moment Arthur lowered him. Bruce urged to retrieve the picture before it touched the fluid, but his muscles weren't answering to his brain, leaving him frozen in place. He watched Arthur submerge Clark with gentleness, a hand over his chest right over his heart, slowly pushing him down until the water covered the body completely.

"There's not enough power to wake the Box, but perhaps Barry could generate enough energy for it to work if he ran from a considerable distance, " Bruce barely registered Victor's words, eyes still fixed on Clark. Victor got a nod from the Flash, but no confirmation came from Bruce, so he asked, "We're still doing this, right?"

Bruce wet his lips, forcing himself to look away and turn to his teammates. He locked gazes with Diana for a second, but her stare remained cold toward him, and Bruce pondered for the first time if he was doing the right thing. He sighed almost imperceptibly and said, "We have to try."

Barry nodded and ran to the other end of the ship to wait for Victor's signal. Arthur joined them back up on the platform, and they all walked over to a corner where they wouldn't interfere with Barry's run. Then, the count started.

Three.

Two.

One.

Bruce closed his eyes. "Please, come back," he whispered.

Go.

It all happened so quickly. Bruce's cape swung as Barry passed by them, too fast for the naked eye to notice. Next, a bright light engulfed the room as the chamber started trembling. Water burst up, tearing a hole in the ceiling. Bruce's back hit the wall, the force of the blast sending him stumbling backwards.

And then it was calm again.

Bruce rushed to the edge of the platform, looking up to the sky and between torn alien cables and metal, a familiar figure hovered surrounded by the evening air. Clark.

"Where has he gone?” Barry asked as Arthur helped him up.

Aquaman signalled up with his trident, and Barry turned his gaze up just in time to see Clark flying away.

"He's just across the street, at Heroes Park." Victor informed, already rushing to the entrance. Barry and Arthur followed suit.

"You coming?" Diana asked. Those were the first words she'd addressed him since that day at the Hangar.

Bruce nodded faintly, finally tearing his eyes off the sky. "I'll catch up." He needed to do something first.

…

"Don't fight him, damn it!" Bruce yelled at Victor who aimed Superman with his arm turned into a weapon, his words drowning in the chaos.

"I know you," Clark spotted him, and Bruce's heart skipped a beat at the sound of his voice.

"Clark," he said, more out of a reflex than anything. "NO!" He yelled at Diana, who had got in Clark's way trying to restrain him with her lasso. Bruce ran past the police barracks surrounding the park, but Clark had already won the struggle with Diana, who was getting up to her feet again.

A strong hand held Bruce by the jaw and elevated him into the air. He reached up to his neck instinctively. Bruce could hear, feel his heart pounding in his ears and chest, resulting from the thrill of being several feel up in the air and seeing Clark again.

"Clark," he choked out, but the man didn't listen. He tried again, this time gently encircling the man’s wrist with a hand. That made Clark look right into Bruce, and that was when he realised what was happening. Bruce searched for Clark's eyes with his again; they were unfocused.

"Clark, I need you to focus on my voice," Bruce recited Martha's words from what he remembered her telling him. "Pretend it's an island, out in the ocean."

Gradually, Clark's expression changed from defensive to afraid. He looked around confused and descended until Bruce's feet touched the ground, then Clark let go of him.

"Clark, look at me," Bruce ripped his cowl off, revealing his face. He didn't care if anyone saw him. He just wanted Clark to be okay.

Bruce reached behind his back, unstrapping the cape from his belt and unfolding it before him. Clark eyed him wearily, as he wrapped the cape around his shoulders. He looked down at Bruce's fisted hand and brought his up tentatively, bare finger's brushing over leather covered ones. "You're safe, Clark. You're home."

Bruce handed him the picture of his father, which he’d fished out of the remaining amniotic liquid back at the Kryptonian chamber before leaving. Clark's eyes filled with tears at the sight of it. His knees gave in, and he fell to the floor, clutching the picture tightly against his chest. Bruce knelt down as well and held him as Clark cried on his shoulder.


	5. Chapter 5

Martha let go of him as Clark slowly approached them, hands in his pockets and a small smile on his lips. Behind them, people were still taking some boxes and wrapped furniture out of a truck and into the house.

"Will you stay for dinner?" Martha asked, "I won't take a “ _no”_ for an answer." She added before Bruce could say anything.

Bruce laughed softly, "I'd be happy to, then." Martha smiled, giving his shoulder a light squeeze before walking back to the house. Clark stood behind him, watching her.

"Thank you is not enough for what you did," Clark said, taking Bruce aback, a sincere smile on his lips.

He wasn't expecting Clark to ever speak to him again, let alone hear any words of gratitude. He didn't feel deserving of them after all he'd done to the man, and giving him back his childhood home was the least he could do. "I made a mistake, that's all," Bruce replied, shrugging dismissively.

Clark looked over at the truck, where just a few boxes were left. "How did you get the house back?" He asked, making small talk as he took in his hands what he considered to be the heaviest.

"I bought the bank," Bruce answered plainly, smirking as Clark paused to process what he had said. He walked over to the man, copying his actions, and taking two medium sized boxes in his arms.

"Like, the whole bank?" Clark asked, still surprised as he led the way into the house.

"Mhm," he hummed affirmatively.

Bruce followed Clark upstairs and down the corridor, stopping at the second door to the left. Clark opened the door and gestured for Bruce to enter first. The room was small, with pale blue walls and a window looking out to the barn. It was empty, save for a bed tucked in the corner, lacking bedclothes, and a couple of boxes stacked near the door, all labelled "Clark's Room" in black marker.

Bruce lowered the boxes he carried on top of another, bigger one, and wandered further into the room. He felt out of place standing in the very room Clark had grown up in, even when the man himself had invited him in.

As Bruce looked out the window and into the expanse of green that was the field, he heard Clark drop two more boxes on the floor. Bruce was supposed to help to unpack, but going through Clark's stuff seemed like a line he couldn't cross. Since when Bruce had become so respectful of boundaries, he honestly, had no idea, but he couldn't do it just because it was Clark we were talking about, and since the day he came back, Bruce made himself a promise.

He would never hurt Clark again.

"I know you didn't do it because you liked me," Clark confessed, gripping the carton edges of the box he'd just opened, his gaze to the floor.

Bruce frowned, turning to face him and considered his answer thoroughly. "No," he naturally replied. And it was true, Diana was right, after all, Bruce's idea of bringing Clark back had been nothing but a selfish act to try and ease his guilty consciousness. Whatever feelings had developed inside Bruce after all that was a different story, however.

Clark looked up meeting Bruce's gaze as soon as the monosyllable left his mouth. "Right," Clark barely whispered in return, his eyes as sad as Bruce had ever seen. His heart clenched at the sight.

Clark looked away, one of his hands letting go of the box and balling to his side. He seemed to be having an internal debate, and all Bruce could do was remain silent and watch from afar.  He saw his jaw clench, his brows furrow, his Adam's apple bob up and down when he swallowed, and how he wet his lips with his tongue. Clark shook his head slightly, liberating some of the tension in his body, as he appeared to have reached his resolution.

He walked up to Bruce, stopping just mere inches away from him. Bruce didn't flinch nor backed away. He couldn't, even if he had wanted to his body was trapped between Clark and the wall. One of Clark's hands wandered up Bruce's arm to rest on his shoulder. Bruce followed the movement with his eyes, turning to lock gazes with the man when he felt Clark's thumb gently grazing the spot where the collar of his shirt met his skin. Clark held his stare, tilting his head slightly to the side. Bruce let his eyes wander briefly down to Clark's parted lips and swallowed. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out as he couldn't come up with anything to say, the blue of Clark's eyes way too distracting for him to think.

As if pulled by a magnet, Bruce leant in, his nose brushing Clark's. He closed his eyes at the contact, lips parting in anticipation, as Clark wrapped his hand around his nape. Clark's breath brushed over Bruce's skin before he closed the distance between them, making Bruce gasp in surprise. He remained static for a moment, but the softness and warmth of Clark's lips against his soon melted Bruce's last restraints. Bruce kissed Clark back, slowly, gently. Clark tasted like coffee and something Bruce couldn't quite place, something unique that made him immediately an addict.

Though Bruce knew that if he let this continue, he wouldn't be able to stop himself. It was too good to be true.

Bruce reached up, placing a hand on Clark's shoulder, as he detached his lips from Clark's. Their foreheads touched before Bruce straightened himself up, making the height difference between them evident once again. "Don't get your feelings mixed up, Clark. You don't owe me anything."

Clark took a step back, frowning. "I'm not… Bruce, Lois and I-"

"Are engaged, I know. Congratulations." Bruce provided, already knowing what would follow. He squeezed Clark's shoulder before letting go of him. Bruce stuffed his hand into the pocket of his pants as soon as it fell to his side, not trusting himself to keep it to himself with Clark still so close.

"No, I… We're not together anymore."

Bruce waited for him to continue, head slightly tilted to the side. He was sure about his words. Martha had told him about the ring Clark had sent to the farm so that he could surprise Lois, and that was before the whole Doomsday thing even happened. Bruce assumed that now that the man was back, the plan would go on.

"I was absent for almost a year, and then suddenly I'm back. It just wasn't fair for any of us,” Clark shrugged, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "A lot of things have changed.”

"I'm not the man you think, Clark. You'll be better off without me." Bruce looked away, taking a step back and cursing mentally when his back hit the wall.

"If you weren't you wouldn't have done what you did the night I came back."

"I did what was right," Bruce argued.

"And is it right to hold back and ignore your feelings?" Clark swallowed, growing exasperated.

"I don't want to hurt you, not again," Bruce said softly, almost imperceptibly, eyes cast down. Clark reached up, cupping Bruce's cheek with his hand. Bruce placed a hand on Clark's waist, the other going up, to entwine his fingers with the one at his cheek. He turned their hand around and placed a kiss on Clark's knuckles. Then he went for his lips. "I’m sorry, for everything,” he muttered against his mouth.

Clark nodded softly. "I'm sorry too," he whispered back. "I was wrong too, Bruce."

"No," Bruce squeezed Clark's hand, closing his eyes. "You were right about me. After twenty years of fighting crime and nothing ever changing I started to lose hope. I got frustrated and angry... I was starting to lose myself."

"Then you came into the picture, and I felt helpless, powerless. I was jealous. I felt like my work in Gotham was worth nothing compared to what you did in a day. I hated you, Clark, so when stories about you hurting people began to spring up in the media, I thought I'd found the perfect excuse to stand up against you."

"Then I saw a glimpse of who you truly were that night, and realised I had been wrong. But you were gone before I could do anything to med my mistake.” Bruce was no longer staring into Clark's eyes, he had rested his forehead on the man's shoulder and spoke quietly into the man's neck.

“That day I swore I wouldn't fail you again. I would make sure to honour your memory as best as I could because it was you, Clark, it was you who pulled me out of the darkness. It was you who made me have faith in humanity again. You ripped the bandage off my eyes and showed me there was still good in people.

And I started to hope. For a better future, a better world. But how good would that be, if the man who had shown me all those wonderful things was gone?”

"I'm here now, Bruce. Thanks to you," Clark gently placed a hand on his nape. Bruce looked up, eyes glassy, but not sad anymore.

"I don't deserve you,” Bruce was still reluctant.

"You do," was the last thing Clark said before leaning in and trapping Bruce lips on his for the third time.

Bruce smiled involuntarily against Clark's mouth. He was thankful for getting a second chance with Clark, and this time, he wouldn't waste it away.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[ART] None But the Lonely Heart](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14527005) by [Cheese_kun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cheese_kun/pseuds/Cheese_kun)




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